


Behind Closed Doors

by OnlytheSecondSon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlytheSecondSon/pseuds/OnlytheSecondSon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or, The Hideous Curse of Being Well-Adjusted in a World Full of Powerful Egomaniacs and Seemingly Hopeless Personal Tragedy</p><p>Adaar understood, theoretically, why Dorian was so concerned about keeping their relationship private. But that didn't mean he was happy about it. It certainly didn't mean he was prepared to accept it. Quite the opposite, in fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS ahead for the Dorian romance and personal quests. You have been warned.
> 
> Basically, the headcannon I have for my Adaar leaves him far too well-adjusted to fully understand the level of Dorian's issues with love, relationships, and self-acceptance. But he tries, really really hard.
> 
> I will be updating this as often as I can! More chapters in-progress, which hopefully will havesome semblance of structure following the game storyline, but may descend into fluffy one-shots if my nerve fails. It's totally un-beta'd, so apologies in advance for any terrible typos, grammar, or spelling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a few weeks after 'The Last Resort of Good Men'. Adaar is taking a moment to reflect on his and Dorian's relationship, with the possibly unhelpful addition of several pints of beer.

It had been four weeks and three days since the Inquisitor and his party returned from Redcliffe.

In that time they'd made a few brief forays into the surrounding countryside, mainly to collect Elfroot, it felt like, with a little darkspawn-slaying on the side. None of the trips had been strictly necessary, but Adaar had wanted to keep Dorian busy, to remind him of his role in the Inquisition, to stop him from keeping his sorrows constantly drowned in the terrible brandy they served at the Herald's Rest. Or perhaps he'd been just as concerned with distracting himself. Stopping himself from mentally replaying the scene he'd witnessed in the tavern between Dorian and his father.

It turned out collecting Elfroot could be surprisingly therapeutic.

But during the quiet moments back at Skyhold, Adaar couldn't tune out the memory of that awful conversation, and its chilling implications. So now he was the one sat in the corner of the tavern, nursing a tankard of ale that was at least better than the terrible brandy. He felt his brow furrow involuntarily. How could anyone treat their child like that? His mind skipped over memories of his own childhood. They were happy, for the most part. Not idyllic, certainly, or at least he had never thought of it like that... But then, he reasoned, it shouldn't have to be a sugar-spun fantasy for your formative years to be free from paternal tyranny and the threat of life-deforming blood magic.

No-one, as far as Adaar could remember, had ever made any fuss about the fact that he 'preferred the company of men', as Dorian had put it. Despite the gloomy nature of his thoughts he couldn't suppress the hint of a smirk. Dorian's delicate turn of phrase could be adorable sometimes. He allowed his mind to drift to more pleasant considerations of the Tevinter mage; the way his well-muscled body moved so fluidly under that ridiculous armour, the look of exhilaration that lit in his grey eyes when blasting demons back into the fade, or when he had managed to leave Adaar breathless with a particularly skilful kiss...

He suddenly remembered where he was, and found himself blushing as he shifted in his chair and furtively looked around him. But this floor of the tavern was usually empty in the early evening, and Cole was no-where to be seen in his customary corner. Just as well, Adaar mused, there were some things in his head that he would rather keep to himself.

Staring a little too intently into his tankard, he tried to pick up the thread of this gloomy thoughts. It wasn't that he particularly _wanted_ to think about it, but snippets of that conversation wouldn't stop haunting him. Snippets of things that had been said, and more painfully, the look on Dorian's face as he'd said them. All that anguish. All that hurt. It had made him want to bundle the man up his arms and drag him away, to cover him with kisses until every trace of that incomprehensible cruelty could be soothed away.

But that was the trouble.

In the weeks that had passed since their return, Adaar had begun to realise that, just as the distracting outings had been more for his benefit than Dorian's, the soothing he so desperately wanted to give the mage could not be achieved with kissing. Not that he hadn't tried. If he was honest with himself, he spent much more time skipping up the steps of the mage tower than he strictly had to spare (what with that crazed wannabe-god stamping around Thedas with his Archdemon, trying to pull them all backwards through the bloody great hole in the sky). And although it was always worth it for the puppy-dog look of those grey eyes, the warmth of his wistful smile, and the intoxicating smell of whatever he used to wax that damned moustache, their moments together never had quite the effect that Adaar desired.

For one thing, apart from that first, exquisite moment when he'd managed to inadvertently (well, half-inadvertently) goad the mage into kissing him up against the cluttered bookshelves of Skyhold's ad-hoc library... That memory easily derailed his train of thought yet again, causing another blush to creep up his neck. Aside from that, _aside from that,_ their first kiss, Dorian had been steadfast in refusing to repeat such intimacies anywhere but in the Inquisitor's chambers. He was always teasing about it, always joking, but nevertheless no amount of coaxing from Adaar (and Maker, how he had coaxed) could draw the mage into anything but flirtatious banter until there was a stout door between themselves and prying eyes.

It was maddening, it was baffling, but mainly it was just plain _upsetting_. Adaar could understand Dorian's reluctance. Theoretically. And it wasn't that he didn't love being allowed to have Dorian all to himself, _Maker_ , having Dorian in his _chambers_... But that really wasn't the point. It _really wasn't_. Even though it _was_ undeniably touching that it all seemed to stem from a desire to protect the reputation of the Inquisition, to protect _him_...

He shook his head sharply, trying rather futilely not to get lost in a pleasant haze of what all that might mean about how much Dorian cared about him. This was not about him. Well, perhaps only indirectly. What mattered was how painfully obvious it was that Dorian considered those feelings something to be ashamed of, something to be hidden. Something certianly not worthy of being connected with the great Herald of Andraste.

Adaar shifted the grip on his rapidly emptying tankard and examined his glowing palm with a look of distaste. Would Dorian still have such qualms about being open with their relationship if Adaar was still only the head of a band of mercenaries? Of course, if he was still nothing more than the leader of the Valo-kas, he and Dorian would never have even met. The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably. At least this Inquisitor business had come with some perks then.

He traced his thoughts back to their original source. Ah yes.

As leader of the Valo-kas, no-one had given a damn who he chose to sleep with. Well, that wasn't true; every one of his kith had seemed to care a great deal who he took to bed, but only so they could make ribald jokes and write terrible poetry about it. His parents though, had certainly never shown any displeasure with his sexual leanings. Not when he had spent a year of his youth pining hopelessly after the dashing young trader in the next village, or when he had played out his first romance with the handsome son of a local farmer. They hadn't even raised an eyebrow when the Valo-kas had first camped out by their fields, and he had been so obviously sharing a tent with one of his new comrades. Actually, that wasn't quite true either. Adaar winced as the memory unfolded in his now pleasantly drink-fuddled brain. As he recalled they had done rather more than raise eyebrows on that occasion. His mother had beamed at everyone, and baked a cake for the slightly bemused young Qunari in question, whilst his father insisted on joining them for drinks around the campfire and making horrendously suggestive comments when they decided to turn in for the night. It had all been hideously embarrassing, but, well... a very far cry from having to choose self-imposed exile to escape the expectations of a father who would rather risk losing him altogether than accept that Dorian preferred men in his bed.

Adaar shuddered again at the memory of the grief that had broken Dorian's voice...

_“You tried to change me”_

He couldn't understand it. Still couldn't even begin to comprehend how a parent could feel that way. Perhaps his own experiences of this had been far too idyllic after all. If he couldn't understand how Dorian's attitude to all this had been shaped, how could he possibly hope to undo the damage?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my attempt to reconcile the love I have for the Dorian/Inquisistor romance with the unremitting angst I have for Dorian's personal storyline. Urgh, the love I have for that mage and his bitter little heart...


End file.
